The Informer Read online

  “Well,” Sakai said with sharp interest as soon as Miss Nakashima was out of the room, “how did it go today?”

  Segawa showed him the diagram and then gave a brief ac­count of his visit to the factory.

  “Uh-huh,” Sakai said absently. He folded his arms and, lean­ing back in his chair, drifted into thought.

  “By the way,” Segawa said, “I thought the quickest way might be to get close to that Kondo girl with some excuse. What d’you think?”

  “Yes, we might have to do that yet, but you mustn’t be impatient . . .”

  This was an answer Segawa didn’t expect. He thought Sakai would order him to get on to the girl the next day.

  “. . . In this type of work, once you make a mistake, it’s very difficult to correct it. So it’s most important that, after you’ve sought out and examined all the possibilities, you choose the safest, easiest and most promising course. The girl assistant is certainly one of the obvious avenues—but there are a number of others besides.”

  “For example?”

  “Well, your impression of Nishiwaki is that he’s a typical sci­entist with a mind that has no room for anything but his work. Is that right?”

  “Well, yes, it looks that way.”

  “Okay. Such a person often takes his work home.”

  “You mean I should forget about the strictly guarded re­search section at the factory and turn my attention to his home?” The words entering and stealing were almost on his lips—he realised this with a mixture of shock and distaste.

  “That’s a line worth considering, too. At the same time, I think we should find out if Mrs. Nishiwaki happens to be one of those frustrated wives, by any chance. For a love affair she may be a much easier mark than the female assistant, don’t you think?”

  Segawa stared at Sakai in stunned silence. He himself had thought Sedako mightn’t get full satisfaction from her hus­band, but it had never occurred to him she might be prepared to go that far.

  Sakai gave a good-natured chuckle. “Well, next is the secre­tary. What’s his name?”

  “Toshiyuki Fujita.”

  “Yes. I think we’ve good reason to look at this man. As a rule, a good secretary is identified with his boss, as if he had no separate existence. He might even have a permanent pass to the research building, and he certainly should know at least something about the secret of paramizol.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “What sort of man is he?”

  “Very handsome, neatly dressed, smooth, well mannered—a typical secretarial type, I’d say.”

  “You’ve already met him once, but I haven’t seen him at all, so it may be silly of me trying to assess him from here. And yet, I do feel it wouldn’t be impossible to get at him.”

  “How? Buying him?”

  “That may be impossible. In my experience such a person can’t be easily bought—not directly, at any rate. Even if that were possible, it’d make the cost of the investigation uneconomically high. No, the success of our work depends on correct calculation rather than bribery . . . I think in his case threaten­ing would be the most effective.”

  “Threatening?” Segawa could hardly utter the word. He swallowed hard.

  “Yes, that’s right,” Sakai said pleasantly. “He may well be one of those people who have to spend most of their time with their chest stuck out, pretending. But sometimes such peo­ple find a place where they think they needn’t pretend for a while, and then they become naked—sometimes change completely—and do some silly things. To put it in another way, Fujita may have a weakness he keeps carefully covered up. If you can touch his weak point, you’ll probably have him where you want him. This is the most effective way of exercising con­trol over intelligent people who have strong pride. This is only a general theory, of course, but it may be worth your while find­ing out whether Fujita has ever been involved in some scandal he doesn’t want publicly known . . .”

  Segawa gazed at his boss wide-eyed. To think that on the basis of brief report he was able to develop one idea after an­other in all directions within a matter of minutes! His awe for Sakai’s ability assumed new dimensions. It might be a common thing for people who’d been in the espionage game for decades to produce such ideas, but Sakai wasn’t that much older than himself—it was amazing he had all this experience.

  “. . . I’m not suggesting you should devote yourself imme­diately to a study of Fujita’s personality. Just keep it in mind together with the other possibles. And I don’t think I need to remind you never to lose sight of the Ogino angle.” Sakai stopped for a moment to light a cigarette. “Of course, the prob­lem there is that although the two of you are such close friends, once it comes to company secrets, he clams up, and he doesn’t reveal any other opening either . . . Yes, he had no suspicions at all about the factory inspection, but when the research sec­tion was mentioned, he suddenly became cautious, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, exactly. As a matter of fact, at one stage during the tour of the factory I nearly asked the chief clerk to show me through the research section, but I decided against it thinking that Ogino might get wind of it.”

  “Well, of course, Ogino is different from ordinary salaried executives because the company partly belongs to him. It’s natural for him to be super-cautious. No, I don’t think a frontal attack would succeed there, but there’s an outstanding oppor­tunity to attack from the flank.”

  “What d’you mean?”

  “You should look at the people around him. As I said be­fore, Fujita is one of them, but there’s another, much closer to him . . .”

  Segawa was stunned into silence once more. Eiko’s face ap­peared before him, and he recalled their last meeting in Ogino’s house—all the awkwardness of it. And he started won­dering if Sakai had an inkling of their former relationship.

  “. . . Well, I hope you understand now that there are many ways in which a case like this can be handled—once all the possibilities have been carefully examined.” His lips twisted into a small ironic smile.

  At this point one of the young salesmen returned to the of­fice and the discussion had to end there. Segawa was just about ready to go when the phone rang.

  “It’s for you, Mr. Segawa—from a Miss Murozaki.”

  “Thanks.” After all the tensions of the day, this unexpected call was enough to make his heart pound again.

  “Have you finished work, Mr. Segawa?” Toshiko’s voice sounded much more serious than usual.

  “Yes. As a matter of fact, I’m just leaving.”

  “I’ve something to tell you. Would you mind coming to the Ginza? It’s very important.”

  “What’s it about?”

  “I can’t tell you on the phone . . . Will you come, please?”

  Toshiko’s business had obviously something to do with Eiko, he thought. Did Eiko ask her to ring him? Or did she tell her she was leaving Ogino, or something like that?

  “All right, I’ll come.”

  “It’s just after ten past five now. How about meeting me at six o’clock?”

  “That’ll give us plenty of time. Where?”

  “You know the Café West at Nishiginza?”

  How could he fail to know it? That was where he and Eiko used to meet regularly during their friendship. Did Toshiko know this? he wondered. Was that why she’d picked that place?

  “All right then—at six o’clock there.” He replaced the re­ceiver and said goodnight to the others.

  Tired as he was, his mind was agitated by doubts mixed with anticipation. With the slanting sunshine on his back, he made his way to Shinjuku Gardens Station.

  What was he looking for, anyway? He was unable to answer this. Was he hoping for a revival of his past romance with Eiko? Or was he hoping to make use of these two sisters to help him­self in his present job? He couldn’t be sure.

  But he
was sure of one thing. Since he’d met Eiko the other day, her figure had never completely disappeared from his mind—those full curves had burnt into his consciousness. He knew that he wanted her—all of her—perhaps more keenly than ever before.

  5

  The coffee shop was fairly crowded with people on their way home from work, but Toshiko must have got there early because she was sitting at a table, holding a second seat for Segawa.

  She looked like a large flower fully opened, and her style sug­gested she had slipped right out of a fashion magazine—very appropriate for a girl who had ambitions to become a dress de­signer. Her expression contrasted with her previous worried tone on the phone. At least on the surface, she appeared to have no problems at all.

  Segawa tried to play the part of the reluctant hero.

  “Have I kept you waiting long? It’s still a few minutes before six o’clock.”

  “I got here too early,” she said sweetly. “Isn’t that funny, but I felt as if I was waiting for my own boyfriend.”

  “I can’t think of anything more gratifying than that. If I had a girlfriend like you—fashionably dressed, willingly waiting for me—my life would be much rosier.”

  “Unfortunately, I’m not your kind of woman, am I? Your type is quiet and gentle and graceful—the woman who picks flowers around the lake and looks up at the moon with eyes filled with tears. That’s your kind of woman, isn’t it?”

  This was an obvious reference to Eiko. Segawa didn’t know what Toshiko was up to. All he could do was produce a flat, hard smile.

  “Did you get me out here just to tell me about these sugges­tive thoughts of yours?”

  “No, that wasn’t the reason,” she said with laughter in her voice. “But I do feel good when you make those flattering re­marks. What d’you think of this suit?”

  She seemed to be stalling for time, and he began to grow impatient.

  “It’s fine—suits you perfectly.”

  “I designed it myself.”

  “Well, well. Now I understand why you wanted to be a dress designer ever since you were a toddler.”

  “When I make enough money, I’ll go to Paris to study. This is only a dream, of course, at the moment—unless I can find myself a nice old patron somewhere.”

  “Now, now.”

  “When your luck changes and you make that fortune, will you become my patron?”

  “All right, but frankly, I don’t think it’ll ever happen . . . By the way, what was it you wanted to talk about? You told me on the phone it was very important.”

  “Oh, that was a lie,” she said flatly.

  “What?”

  “I wanted to get you here by hook or by crook—that’s all.”

  Segawa was completely nonplussed.

  “But what for?”

  “I thought it might be nice to have dinner together.”

  “Dinner together?”

  “Don’t misunderstand me—I’ve no intention of seducing you, and I don’t expect you to seduce me. You and I are not the two to have dinner together.”

  “What?”

  Segawa grasped the edge of the table with both hands. He’d been trying to treat her like a silly girl, but now it was apparent she was the one making fun of him. She remained perfectly calm, a furtive triumph dawning in her black eyes.

  “Naturally, I’ve followed my own judgment in this . . . You think I’m doing something that’s none of my business? Or are you going to show me a little gratitude?”

  “Have you—”

  “I don’t know if it’s good or wicked of me, acting like this. If we were in some other country, it probably wouldn’t look so bad, but here in Japan it must seem terrible, especially to older people. Poor me—I might yet be labelled a bad woman . . . Well, I don’t care. When I looked at my sister I felt so helpless and impatient—I just couldn’t stand it any more.” Toshiko be­came serious. “Sometimes I’m so conscious of the generation gap between me and my sister—or you, for that matter. There isn’t that much difference in our ages, but there’s a great deal of difference in the way we think—and I don’t think this is caused by a difference in nature alone.”

  “No—I agree. I’ve often thought of this myself.”

  “My generation is completely post-war, but yours isn’t. You can’t be called the mid-war generation either, but you do have some memories of the war, and you grew up under the old edu­cation system. In other words, there remain in you some of the old ideas. Your generation is neither mid-war nor post-war—it’s somewhere between the two and doesn’t belong anywhere.”

  “You may be right.”

  “We try to find happiness without hesitation or shyness. We think this is natural. But you people can never make up your minds, can you? You always vacillate because you’ve too much regard for the established rules. To me, this looks foolish and irritating.”

  Her analysis of the generation gap was fairly rough, Segawa thought, but it did point out at least one side of the truth. Cer­tainly there was a big difference in the attitudes of people of twenty-five and people of thirty to thirty-five. To her, his age group must look rather old.

  Once more Toshiko’s face broke into a smile as she said, “My brother-in-law’s going to be late tonight. He’s going to some party—this happens quite often these days. He probably won’t be home till well after midnight, so I suggested to Eiko we go and see a film . . . Here she is now.”

  Stiffly Segawa looked across to the entrance. Eiko stood there in a fawn-coloured suit, just inside the door, her eyes searching the shop. As she recognised him, she seemed to wince a little. In that dim light he couldn’t read any change of expression on her face, but there seemed to be a moment of hesitation. Then, as if an invisible barrier had been suddenly removed from her path, resolutely she walked towards them.

  “Toshi, what’s this all about?” She gave her a cold look. The corners of her mouth were drawn tightly into her face.

  Toshiko flashed an innocent smile. “I’m sorry, sister, but something urgent’s come up and I won’t be able to go with you. I didn’t want to let you down, so I found another partner for you—don’t you think I’m clever?” She stood up quickly. “Please excuse me, but I’m in a hurry. Have a nice time. Mr. Segawa, would you mind paying for my coffee?”

  “Toshi—wait!”

  Eiko called out sharply, but Toshiko swam her way out of the shop like a mermaid, pretending not to hear.

  “My sister is completely irresponsible,” she said apologetically after she had calmed down. “I hope she hasn’t inconvenienced you too much.”

  “No, not at all.”

  The conversation stopped right there. Long after the wait­ress had taken the order and brought a cup of tea for Eiko, they were still looking at each other without a word.

  This was a strange experience for both of them. For the first few minutes the silence was awkward as on the previous occasion, but gradually the tension dissolved. The wall of ice separating the two was slowly melting away by itself. In the end, they felt there was no need to say anything at all. Keeping silent seemed to be a better way of communicating with each other.

  Eiko’s face began to grow hotter. Her dark eyes shone with held-back tears, and her hand made involuntary little move­ments on the top of the table.

  Segawa placed his hand over hers. She blushed from her throat to the roots of her hair.

  “Let’s get out of here,” she said in a half-whisper.

  “Yes,” he said thickly, as in the old days.

  They left the shop and walked into the street. It was al­ready dark.

  “Toshiko said you were going to have dinner together and then see a film. Would you still like to do that?”

  “No. Not now.” Her voice came from deep in her throat, and there was a note of defiance in it. “I don’t feel like wasting any more ti
me.”

  Her own words wrought a sudden change in her face. Her eyes were now clouded with tears.

  Segawa put his hands on her hips and slowly drew her closer to himself. She began to sob quietly with head bowed, her shoulders moving ever so slightly.

  “I couldn’t forget you for a single day,” she said at last. There was no trace of shame in her voice. It was the honest, open ex­pression of a desire that was flooding her whole body.

  Segawa was the one who hesitated. Ogino’s face appeared before him, and he couldn’t rid himself of a sense of guilt. You should look at the people around him. Sakai’s words were ringing in his ears.

  He slipped an arm around her back and gently forced her to walk on.

  “Anyway, it’s better to have dinner first,” he mumbled. The words sounded foolishly out of place.

  They were in that state of sweet oblivion which prolongs plea­sure. Eiko’s cheek was resting against his chest, the tips of her fingers moving slowly on his naked skin. Her body was cooling under the evening breeze that came through the window. He was playing with her rich black hair, and kissed her lightly on the temple. In the dim light of the bedside lamp her pale skin had a pinkish glow.

  Segawa was still stunned by the all-consuming passion she had just displayed. This wasn’t the Eiko he used to know. How she’d let him caress the soft, dark places of her body . . . how her flesh pulsated under his touch . . . how she became shining and flushed and transformed into sheer beauty . . . how she begged him to sink himself deep into her yielding softness . . . Her usually quiet, timid nature changed as soon as she’d shed her clothes. Her love-making was positive and forceful, and she displayed far more physical strength than he would’ve ex­pected from that feminine body of hers.

  Perhaps women grew strong once they’d made up their minds, Segawa thought. That must be part of it. But she was also far more mature as a lover than she used to be when he’d last known her. At that time she couldn’t have gone on like this. She’d been so naive—she used to shake after one kiss.